


Mornings

by akraia



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 07:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akraia/pseuds/akraia
Summary: Jack Robinson considers himself to be a man of strong will and conviction.





	Mornings

Jack Robinson considers himself to be a man of strong will and conviction – which is perhaps not entirely surprising, considering much of his life has been coloured by a sense of duty and doing the right thing. But, he reflects as he wakes up and becomes aware of his surroundings, leaving a bed with a sleeping Phryne Fisher in it has to count among the hardest things he has ever had to do.

For one thing, he is just entirely too comfortable to get up. For another, he feels the warm delicious weight of her body curled against his side, and how anyone in their right mind would willingly leave _that_ he can't imagine. The feeling is intensified by the novelty and sheer improbability of the situation. Everything about this – from spending the night with her to waking up with her hair tickling his face to the fact that there is a drawer in her bedroom holding clean shirts, socks and underwear of his – still feels quite new and strange to Jack. Since she came back from England a few months ago they have been devising an arrangement of sleepovers and compromises, figuring out the practicalities of being together. The pure joy of the thought that this is something they are now – together – makes his clear, collected head swim a little bit.

Reluctantly he opens his eyes, notices the angle of the daylight filtering in through the curtains and gives a small sigh. Not willingly, perhaps, but he does have to get up if he wants to get to work on time, or at all.

Phryne doesn't do anything in life by halves, including sleeping, so she doesn't wake when he slips out of bed. Difficult as that is, the real assault on his strength of will doesn't happen until he returns from the bathroom, washed and shaved, hair neatly parted and combed into submission, to get dressed.

Phryne has turned over in her sleep and is now lying sprawled on her back, the elegant line of her neck exposed and vulnerable. Watching her sleep while he dresses, the temptation to stretch out next to her is almost overwhelming. Jack is itching to gather her against him again, warm lithe limbs and delicate silk nightwear, to run his fingers through her sleep-tousled hair and to kiss her soft pink mouth. It really is a fortunate thing that he is in control of his impulses – for the most part – and so he contents himself with bending down to kiss her upturned cheek. She snuffles in her sleep, and he catches a whiff of her scent, French perfume and clean bed sheets and the unique smell of her skin. Jack smiles, a little wistfully, at this new assault on his determination to get to work on time.

Tiptoeing out of Phryne Fisher's bedroom in the morning feels almost as surreal as the knowledge that he will be allowed to return there. That thought is enough to quirk up the corners of his mouth as he pads down the stairs and gathers his coat and hat by the door.

Anyone passing by 221B, The Esplanade on that particular morning at half past seven can bear witness to a delighted detective inspector stepping out of the front door and shrugging into his coat before walking down the garden path with a spring in his step, quietly whistling to himself.

 


End file.
